Thursday, March 08, 2012

Review: How To Be: NORTH DAKOTA

North Dakota's boom has brought new attention to the state, but few people outside of the northern plains know much beyond oil and the misguided belief that Mount Rushmore is here. Abe Sauer's solution is a new book of satire, "How To Be: NORTH DAKOTA - A Guide To The Plains", a primer on everything "top Dakota". The book is full of activities, short lessons in history and geography, and advice on how best to embody North Dakota itself. "How To Be..." is a quick read, written in short zinger-filled paragraphs, especially suited for fans of blogs and Uncle John's Bathroom Reader.

"How To Be..." is organized into topical chapters, addressing every aspect of the North Dakotan lifestyle. The jokes are satirical and bawdy, and while it gives appropriate attention to snow and lutefisk, Sauer can at times be harsh, acknowledging the darker aspects of North Dakota such as depression, Native American relations, and drug abuse.

Surprisingly, there's a lot to learn in Sauer's book. Despite the snarky humor, the book does contain many true facts about North Dakota. The book ends with a quiz, and because the real answer is so difficult to distinguish from the joke answers, getting a passing grade may be more difficult than expected. The amount of 'inside humor' betrays the fact that much of the written for North Dakotans themselves. "Hopefully, native North Dakotans will find a good number of inside jokes in the book, especially in the rundowns of individual towns," Sauer told me. "But I also wanted to keep it accessible to anyone looking to laugh and get to better know a state that is a lot more in the news lately, but for which the film 'Fargo' is still the standard of knowledge."

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Wednesday, December 02, 2009

Review: Tangerine, by Edward Bloor

When I first bought Edward Bloor's Tangerine, the flap summary, the various covers, and the information online all led me to believe the book had a supernatural component: the blind can see, predictable lightning that does strike twice, geeks are cool — up is down, cats and dogs living together, mass hysteria — and cryptic hints of an evil older brother. It sounds closer in style to a Goosebumps title than your average young-adult fiction, but it's far better than that.

At the core of this story is a common trope: kid moves to a new city, full of the unfamiliar and populated by kinds of people he's never met before. Paul Fisher's family starts the book in transit, moving from Houston to a development in Tangerine County, Florida. Lake Windsor Downs is a representative modern development, a series of cookie-cutter houses on curvy streets, abruptly bordering the swampland that it overlays like a toy town rolled out on a sheet of Astroturf. The families are perfect, the houses are perfect, the school is perfect, everything is bright and cheery, although it rests upon swamp that's been burning for years, re-ignited by the frequent lightning strikes from the daily thunderstorms.

Paul is hampered by damaged eyes, apocryphally attributed to looking directly at an eclipse of the sun, but he sees more than anyone believes. He starts out the school year with the mark of a disability in his folder, which entitles him to special treatment, but he soon proves himself better than his 20/20-sighted peers as a soccer goalie. A series of events, a lightning strike, a sinkhole, and a soccer problem, sends Paul to Tangerine Middle School, which shows Paul the huge chasm between the clean artificiality of his home in Lake Windsor and the lower classes of the original community around which developments have grown. Although nothing in the book is outright supernatural, Bloor describes the unnatural Lake Windsor with all the other-worldliness a transplanted teenager would see in it, thick glasses or not. The mysterious events which drive the story all have natural explanations, although their influence on Paul's life conspire to force him to grow, to see things for what they are, and stand up for himself against the schools, his peers, and his family, for what he knows as the truth.

Wifey and I have lamented the lack of "boy literature," books that appeal to boys without being fantasy, TV-related, or comic books, and this is probably the best fit I've seen recently. The book is dark, contains a mystery, and includes a couple deaths — and prominently features sports. The main character is geeky and plays soccer, while the main antagonists of the story are popular and play football, which still leans towards the kind of book a nerdy bookworm would identify with, but it moves in the right direction. The back cover says the book is for ages 12 and up, which is a reasonable description because the realistic nature of the story is a bit intense, as opposed to giant robots hitting each other. The story itself is deeply rooted in the world of late 20th century Florida, Bloor's stomping grounds, and it focuses sharply on the world a boy in Florida would encounter. More than just topics a boy would enjoy, Paul's world is sharply boyish. Communication is through action, friendship is tenuous and rooted in aggression, and there's no long monologues about how the characters feel. Even between friends, Paul Fisher's conversations are choppy and indirect, something familiar to anyone who's watched boys communicate in real life.

As an adult, there was no struggle for me to enjoy it. The book is 'young adult', which (especially when you include the Twilight and Harry Potter crowds) is becoming less of an indicator of substandard reading. The story is rather complex, draped in metaphor and strung with many well-formed characters and subplot threads, which Bloor masterfully twists together into a fluid story. There's a risk of adding plots and characters to fill pages, and some of the soccer-season stuff in the middle begins to feel like filler, but Bloor's story for Paul Fisher moves forward in a very natural way, despite the fantastic elements. Given the use of language and the complexity underneath the story, age 12 is probably still a good lower boundary for reading, but there's no upper boundary. Know a grown-up who isn't much into reading fiction? This book would be a good starting point if he's usually spending his spare time watching sports on TV. Requiring little suspension of disbelief despite the fantastic elements, and giving more than one might expect from a young adult book, Edward Bloor's Tangerine is an excellent novel, for kids and adults alike.

Tangerine, by Edward Bloor
ISBN 0-15-201246-X
294 pages, 6" x 9" hardcover
Harcourt Brace & Co.

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Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Review: The Irish In Dakota, by David Kemp

The upper Midwest is usually considered the domain of Norwegian, German, and Swedish immigrants, but it turns out the Irish had far more impact on the settling of Dakota Territory during the late 19th century than I had ever realized.

The Irish in Dakota, by David Kemp, is a fact-laden chronology of the movement of Irish families into Dakota, but doesn't extend much beyond that. The book is short, and only rarely diverges into analysis or storytelling, but I can see why genealogy websites list it under Irish ancestry resources. The book moves quickly through the late 19th century, a cascade of names and dates and places, providing its own context while lacking much breadth. I'd also say that the book focuses more on the parts we now call South Dakota than the entirety of the territory. Since the author relied heavily on South Dakota's historical societies, it is to be expected.

I checked out the book from the public library because of my recent fascination with the Fenians, and the book devotes a large part to the Fenian presence in this area, which was more than I had even thought before. That's the book's strongest feature: it contains a lot of information that I hadn't read or heard before, so it did open my eyes to a facet of my region's history. The amount of information makes me feel there's a much larger book in there that hasn't been written, making this book short of what it could have become.

The Irish in Dakota, by David Kemp
ISBN 978-0962459313
144 pages, 5½" x 8½"
Rushmore House Publishing

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Monday, October 05, 2009

Review: Do-Over!

Robin Hemley, like most adults, has never been satisfied with his childhood. He made mistakes: he messed up during the school play, he didn't ask out the girl he liked, he didn't try very hard to be a good student, or even really a good person. Like the rest of us, he overcame his childish ways and became an adult — but he continued to be haunted by those failings of childhood. Robin, however, went further than the rest of us: he went back and had "Do-Overs".

In his book, Do-Over!, Robin Hemley documents his attempts to repair the mistakes and errors of the first two decades of his life, starting with Kindergarten, through summer camps (first appearing in New York Magazine) and various other schools, ending at resolving a failed experience as an exchange student in Japan. As his project grows and evolves, his real life hasn't stopped moving, either, and his family changes and grows alongside his back-tracked years.

The book isn't a good study in re-living the past: as it progresses, the Do-Over plan begins to fade, and it develops into a study on how Robin got to where he is today. Having messed up his Christmas play is a well-defined event to try and do-over, but staying at his childhood home and having dinner with his mother's friends amplifies the more personal aspect of revisiting childhood. By the end of the book, when Robin travels to Japan to relive an aborted exchange student school-year, it has lost the aspect of Robin pretending to be a high-school student, replacing the mechanical do-over method with grown-up days hanging out with a long-lost friend, driving around Osaka, and reminiscing with the chain-smoking Japanese head of the exchange program.

Those reflections on Robin's youth are the more intriguing stories in the book, but they lose the momentum of the kindergarten or Christmas play chapters. When Robin is working towards a goal, overcoming the obstacles both internal and external, the reader is remembering their own childhood mistakes and rooting for the underdog Hemley. It is easy to identify with the guy who wasn't the most athletic, or the smartest, or the Cool Kid. You want him to do his lines correctly or to sit with the football clique at lunch, using the benefit of adulthood to accomplish what seemed impossible to a kid. Robin continually re-discovers that childhood isn't, technically, lost in age — he quickly falls into regressive behaviors, unconsciously behaving more like an 11-year-old when living as one than he had expected. As Hemley wanders away from redoing experiences into reliving memories, he has a chance to reflect on what the do-overs mean to him, aside from a goal of replacing a failure with a success.

At its best, the book is The Autobiography of Robin Hemley, written not from memories composed in a past tense, but through the New Journalism lens of his experience physically revisiting what was distantly remembered. The book, however, is pulling in different directions throughout, and doesn't completely get its bearings on where the Do-Over project is headed. This lack of a cohesive destination, whether intended or not, weakens the book, because it's a different experience to cheer for a character beating the odds versus sympathizing with a man who begins by describing himself through the 'glass half-empty' memories of his childhood. Robin says throughout that he repeatedly received positive feedback when explaining his project's conceit, but when the book leaves behind those do-over goals it starts to be about the difference between recalling flawed memories of the past and reflecting on what those experiences make of a man.

Do-Over!, by Robin Hemley
ISBN 978-0-316-02060-2
319 pages, published 2009
Little, Brown and Company

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Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Review: Lover Boy

Check out the artists who created Lover Boy: Stanley and Janice Berenstain. We know them better as Stan and Jan, the creators of the Berenstain Bears. The couple turned to children's books after they had kids of their own, but leading up to it they were part of a group of popular illustrators for mainstream magazines like Collier's. Lover Boy is actually pretty funny, and rather on the fringe in its frank view on sex between couples. First written in 1958, it was a bit ahead of the sexual revolution, so the comic about a guy reading his Playboy, then grabbing his wife lustily, is quite removed from the Leave it to Beaver ideas of how spouses behaved with each other. Today, that Playboy-leads-to-sex comic has probably been used as a subplot in a King of Queens episode, but for the time it was awfully naughty.

Stanley and Janice's couple throughout the book — not necessarily the same couple throughout, but drawn similarly — are obviously a loving couple, but as you might guess from the title, the male psyche is more on trial here. The whole book isn't sex and naughtiness, though: the guy tries a mustache, he meets a talkative woman on the bus and appreciates his wife all the more, he tries home improvements and fails miserably, he tries to put the kids down for a nap. The naughty parts are probably the funniest in their honest humor. The guy isn't a rogue, he isn't cheating on his wife, but he's surrounded by sex all day, at the office, on the street, in movies and at the beach, that he simply can't help but enjoy taking a look whenever he can. The only times it seems the wife storms out or punishes him is when he drinks too much and makes a fool of himself. The wife is the sympathetic one throughout, but she's well aware of what kind of guy she's got, flaws and all. It's no wonder Stan and Jan stayed together for so many years: it's clear, in this early collaboration, that they understood what couples have to put up with.

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Monday, July 27, 2009

Review: Uncommon Carriers

John McFee gets around, but not nearly as much as the subject of his book. Between the two covers of Uncommon Carriers, McFee crosses the country on trains, trucks, boats, and — except for fear of customs officials — probably would have UPS'ed himself if he had a big enough box for it.

Uncommon Carriers is a mish-mosh of essays, a series of nearly unrelated gonzo-journalism, in which McPhee rides along with a commercial shipper of one kind or another. Each method is a common one: nearly everyone has passed a mirror-bodied tanker truck on the freeway, or stopped for a mile-long train of coal-filled hoppers to cross the road. The only common thread between the stories, save for one Thoreau-themed canoe trip, is the transport of freight in our country. In fact, as far as commercialism goes, these stories are heavily American. The product moved starts as raw material at one point, and ends up a final product at another. McFee's adventures cover the ground in between.

Being a book of scattershot transportation articles does mean a degree of unevenness between the sections. The copyright page says that much of the book originally appeared in The New Yorker and The Atlantic Monthly, which explains the lack of consistency. The boating parts have the strongest writing of the book; had he expanded just on the theme of river transportation, the book might have been better overall. The parts with the 18-wheeler that frame the book are probably the weakest, and the railroad sections, while interesting, spend more time on the mechanics of railroads than the human component of the train. As a work of literature, this ain't a classic, but it is excellent for a summer read, definitely a good "guy's book", full of big engines, American-made materials, just a touch of foul language, brief exposure to bare breasts, and each machine's operators fit into a "man's-man" category of their own.

Uncommon Carriers, by John McPhee
ISBN 0-374-28039-8
Published 2006, 248 pages
Published by Farrar, Straus & Giruox

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Monday, June 22, 2009

Review: West On The 49th Parallel

Early in most American's education, we learn that the 49th parallel of latitude divides the United States from Canada, the longest undefended international border in the world. On a globe or map, it isn't difficult to draw the line and say, "there you go," that's U.S., that's Canada. On the ground, however, it is a difficult prospect. A latitudinal line is a cartographic construct: the border isn't the middle of a river, or the edge of an ocean, or the peaks of a mountain. Those markers can be seen from the ground, while the 49th parallel can not. John E Parson's book, West on the 49th Parallel: Red River to the Rockies, 1873-1876 documents the first successful and somewhat accurate attempt to mark the line along the borders of Minnesota, North Dakota, and Montana. There had been previous attempts to mark the border, with great inaccuracies, but the 1873 product was a joint venture between the British (who held Canada at the time) and U.S. governments. The main method of measuring latitude at the time was by star observations, which at the time had an accuracy within a few dozen feet (amazing, on par with GPS and definitely better than Google Maps' markers), but required a staff of astronomers and mathematicians to correctly interpret. Toss in security to help against the Indian threat, generals and majors to be in charge, the short seasons in which to do the work, and general weirdness involved in being in so remote an area all make for a less than boring adventure.

The book itself, unfortunately, is very dry; it does, however, include quite a bit of dry humor along with the boring parts. The actual process of figuring out the position of the 49th parallel is minor, compared to the pages of anecdotes about life for the crews in charge of the project. You hear of the guy who managed to shoot himself—twice—while on the job, the parties held at remote forts for various holidays, the wild dog conscripted to help pull sleds, the Fenian cook who insisted his innocence but ended up in jail for violent crime before he could even set out with the crew…it's like Best of the West hooked up with Deadwood for a little political cartography. I like Red River history, so the places and situations are familiar to me, but the book won't be for everyone. As a historial reference, it does well with facts and accuracy, but the dryness makes it a less-than-ideal piece of historic entertainment. What somebody needs to do is adapt it to a screenplay; the goofiness of the characters definitely entertains.

West on the 49th Parallel: Red River to the Rockies, 1873-1876
by John E Parsons
Originally published 1963

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Monday, June 15, 2009

The Enthusiast, by Charlie Haas

Charlie Haas has made a name for himself writing for a variety of outlets, from the big screen to magazines, but he'd never put out a novel before. His first attempt at long-format fiction, The Enthusiast, has been on shelves for two weeks now, and I got a chance to review it over at Collector's Quest. Maybe I identified well with the main character because I spend hours each week writing about elaborate postage stamp forgeries and Hawai'ian currency. I know what it's like to have to compose an article about something I have little personal interest in, but others take very seriously. It's a wholly enjoyable book, maybe not something that'll change people's lives or spawn a new genre, but worth picking up this summer and reading on vacation while the kids scream and tumble over each other at the beach. The book's characters get over hipstery angst as the book moves along, ending up with pretty much all of the cool, young characters becoming cool, older adults — it's sorta like the fantasy beneath Sex in the City, but where you still get to have kids and a mortgage and mature friendships.

I don't know why I'm surprised, but given our reputation as the northern Edge of the World, I was amused to see a shout-out to North Dakota in the book, in regards to a publisher who buys up little obscure magazines, polishes them, and turns them into commodities:

"People hate us."
"I don't think—"
"Hate us. Because we came along and said, 'What if this was a business?' We go to buy someone , and the first thing they say is, 'Gee, do we have to leave North Dakota?' I say, 'No, because we want to preserve that unique character.' They say, 'Oh, that's great, because my brother Zeke is here, and my dog.' I don't want them near here. A square foot in North Dakota is free
"

Eh, playing to stereotypes a bit, but it comes from the mouth of a Californian publishing editor, who probably knows about as much about North Dakota as…well…people from any state that doesn't border us. But, Zeke? The only place I've met a Zeke is Missouri; we tend to stick to classic Germanic or Nordic names. But, land does come cheap out here, if you don't plan on driving to the grocery store more than once a month.

The Enthusiast includes some fun towards the back. In a section called "P.S." (that's why Amazon has the weird title in their system), the novel tries to go all BluRay on you by adding a handful of "special features," no doubt traded for fifty pages of advertisments in the library edition. There's a canned interview with an author, an interesting article that in ancient times we would have called a "foreword", a "mix tape" list of appropriate music selections for various characters and locales, and one page of reading group questions. That last one…well, here are the recommended questions for the night scheduled to discuss The Enthusiast:

Who brought this salad?

Is someone sitting here?

Did we talk about changing to Thursdays?

What does anyone think about painting this room orange?

Did you read the book? Will it ruin it for you if I talk about it?

Haas has a strong future with The Onion, it seems. It elicited a chuckle from me, but cost his publisher a few thousandths of a cent to put into every copy of the book, so I don't know whether this sort of additional material adds much value to a book, but I won't complain if all books start coming with it.

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Tuesday, May 19, 2009

Book vs Film: Immortality Inc / Freejack

In the grand stylings of The Onion AV Club, I'll try this format out:

SPOILER WARNING: Book Vs. Film is a column comparing books to the film adaptations they spawn, often discussing them on a plot-point-by-plot-point basis. This column is meant largely for people who’ve already been through one version, and want to know how the other compares. As a result, major, specific spoilers for both versions abound, often including dissection of how they end. Proceed with appropriate caution.
Going back to my single-dad days, I'd drop my daughter off at her mom's, and then either hit Blockbuster or Best Buy and get a movie. Didn't really matter what kind, as long as it could sustain a couple dollars worth of entertainment; once I turned to the internet for advice and was recommended Secretary, an awesome selection which I never would have known to choose on my own. I, on the other hand, would pick things like Freejack, which I knew pretty much solely on the fact that its soundtrack had both Ministry and Jesus Jones. As far as sci-fi movies go, it's pretty standard 1992 — through the mid-90s, filmmakers were able to toss some pretty big-named actors into some pretty lame movies. Some was genuinely crap, like Lawnmower Man, Alien3, Robocop 2 and 3, and Johnny Mnemonic, but others are arguably pretty lame movies that were made better by the skills of the performers, like Total Recall, Demolition Man, Strange Days, and Terminator 2. Just look at Freejack's case: on IMDB, the first four performers are Emilio Estevez, Mick Jagger, Rene Russo, and Anthony Hopkins; not a slouch among them, and there's at least another half-dozen recognizeable names and character actors rounding out the main cast.

The story, however, is far from a four-star treatment. Emilio Estevez plays a young, attractive racecar driver in love, who flies out of control and crashes to his death. The crash, however, becomes an instantaneous example of a shell-game: in the far-flung year of 2009 — holy crap, that's now! — scientists teleported the just-about-to-be-dead Estevez and left an empty Formula 1 in his place. Something goes awry, largely from participating in time-folding in a bad part of town, and Estevez wakes up in the future and escapes. The premise of Estevez's rescue was that, since he was about to die anyway, nobody should let a good body go to waste. In 2009, science had perfected storing and transferring minds, and Estevez's body was intended to be occupied by a rich, nearly-dead man played by Anthony Hopkins. On the run in a not-so-distant future, Estevez is pursued by Hopkins' henchmen so they can recapture the 'freejack,' an occurrence that must be so common in the future that society already has a name for it. Everybody knows what a freejack is, and the reactions range from interest in claiming the bounty to cheering Estevez on for sticking it to the man.

The film progresses as chase flick: one guy is on the run, other guys are after him. The 2009 date gives the movie a chance to be only kinda futuristic; there's just minor details that are a little off and futuristic, but otherwise the movie uses sets designed with police procedurals in mind, like gritty bars and dirty alleys. Along his escape, Estevez does what all good tossed-into-the-future characters do best: discover just how different the future is. His discoveries are rather mundane, and not unbelievable for the most part — he doesn't discover aliens living as humans, or robots running the government — which makes it more understandable when he takes it in stride. I hate movies where the main character walks around in gape-mouthed surprise at everything they see, but moves through the world like they've lived there all their lives. In the end, Estevez gets to keep his body because everyone believes that the rich Hopkins did succeed in taking over his body, he gets the girl, and everybody wins.

Immortality Inc. by Robert Scheckley is the purported source for Freejack, but the two share only the veneer of similarity. In fact, even if I read the back cover, I wouldn't have known this book was the basis for Freejack if it wasn't announced on the front cover. Immortality Inc. starts with a car crash as well, but in the year 1958, on a dark country road. Thomas Blaine doesn't escape death, though — his car hits another car, the steering wheel crushes his body, there's nothing left to save him…but he awakens in a hospital room. Body snatching and switching are a big part of the book, but in a far different way than Freejack. Blaine is brought to the future, not as a body, but as a disembodied spirit. He's an unwilling test subject: his newly dead ghost is brought through time to the year 2110 and inserted into a new body. Technology had been able to connect and disconnect bodies and spirits for decades, but to be able to bring a spirit from the past and connect it to a body in the future was a new development, and Blaine was the first successful attempt at it.

What this develops into is classic 1950s and 1960s sci-fi: using unbelievable science and technology in a way that completely questions mankind's existence; most tend to make it so convoluted and unbelievable to be almost unapproachable. This book's conceit is that the afterlife is a scientifically-measurable fact, that the eternal soul is (with exceptions) eternal and independent of the body. The body, however, is simply a combination of crysalis and tricycle, the way a soul gets through life long enough to spring into the afterlife. Shortly after his resurrection, Blaine gets the chance to witness the process that brought him back, the body-takeover of a nearly-dead corporate executive trading up to a new body, one of the few somewhat-similar events as in Freejack. Also, as in Freejack, the process goes wrong, and the wrong spirit gets to keep the body. In this case, a nearby disembodied soul grabs the body before the executive does, and runs off into the night as a zombie. The book explains that all manner of superstition and legend, from ghosts to zombies to werewolves, are due to this scientific discovery that the human soul is real.

What the book attempts to test and play with is the idea that, if the body is unnecessary in the long run, what fear of mortality is there? People commit suicide willy-nilly, others freak out and try to take as many people with as possible into the afterlife by going 'beserker' on a public street. Because not every soul is guaranteed afterlife, the Hereafter Corporation provides 'afterlife insurance', a process by which every person can make it into heaven without dissolving into oblivion, provided they can pay the price. When the Blaine project gets nixed because of the possible illegality of his time travel, Blaine is sent out into this world of 2110, and nearly ends up dead at every turn.

This does, however, put Blaine in the position of fearing for his life, with everyone around him wondering why. The book doesn't give a nice tidy answer for either opinion on death, which may be more realistic overall, but makes for tough reading; it's hard to really understand why anybody does anything, whether the over-the-top suicides of the rich or the people fearing beserkers on the streets of New York, except possibly that people just do what people do.

This ambiguity about the questions it asks is the book's weakest part, because Blaine is horribly unprepared for the world of 2110 but everybody else moves along without him affecting them at all. Nobody is surprised that he's from the past; nobody is concerned about his physical wellbeing or opinions, and few people are interested in helping him except for the two people most involved in his original death. His function as narrator barely requires his participation in the events of the book, except to format exposition as conversations. Lots of science fiction of that mid-20th century period, even the very good stuff, relies heavily on the deep explanation of Man's direction in the universe, which is helpful sometimes, but can be overpowering. It's also ripe for loose ends: there's no actual proof of an afterlife, just that ghosts can survive a while outside of their bodies, which still means the possibility of permanent mortality; much of Blaine's troubles could have been solved by swapping bodies (a common, if difficult and expensive, prospect) at more than one point in the novel; and despite omniscience being part of the benefit of post-death ghostdom, the police and others are largely unable to predict or observe forthcoming problems. It's science fiction, so the conceit should be taken with a grain of salt and run under its own rules, which isn't too hard to do with this book despite the big jumps of logic it attempts.

As with Freejack, when you strip away the high-level assets, the story is a pretty plain mystery-adventure. Blaine manages to survive various learning experiences, and by the end everything is tidied up and tied in a little bundle: the mysterious stranger who had pursued Blaine throughout the book turns out to be the man in the other car that Blaine inadvertently killed; various enemies and pursuers are shaken or get their own desserts; Marie Thorne, the woman with a heart of ice that could only be melted by the love of a man from the 20th century, is revealed to be not just his savior, but the one who caused Blaine's adventure; and Blaine, recognizing a Man's value in the universe, gives up his own life as a honorable gesture to make the world right. In the end, not only does Blaine sacrifice his own life, Thorne sacrifices hers as a redemption for her sins, choosing to spend the rest of her afterlife with Blaine than to live with her guilt. A slightly more satirical writer, like Vonnegut, could have twisted these average aspects of 1950s literature within the contexts of the valuelessness of the human body, make it a wry commentary on man's existence rather than a plot-moving mechanism by which the main character gets from place to place in the book. Sheckley's ideas are interesting and ambitious, but the book doesn't quite reach the pinnacle it aspires to reach. As a tight adventure-mystery, Immortality Inc. is a capable, servicable novel, provided the reader doesn't look too deeply into the deep concepts skirted by the protagonists.

While the film doesn't have any faithfulness to the original source material, there is an underlying similarity between the two works. Both aspires to be something more than it is at the core: a pulpy, generic story wrapped in some top-notch accessories. Freejack wasn't critically acclaimed, but as far as sci-fi chase movies go, it has its entertainment value. Immortality Inc. might not have been added to the library of Great Literary Classics, but it does manage to take an Asimovian level of deep-thinking and make it a simple linear pulp story.

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Thursday, April 16, 2009

Hubert's Freaks

Over at Collector's Quest, I review Hubert's Freaks, a tale of an antiquarian book dealer who stumbles into a lost artifact of the art world: A series of Diane Arbus photos of Hubert's Museum. Ultimately, everyone in the book is struggling with their own personal demons, but Bob Langmuir, the protagonist antiques dealer, is the only one to come out ahead in the end. After reviewing The Error World, the media guy at Harcourt thought this book would be a good fit for me to review, andsent it to me just in time for the paperback release through fellow Houghton-Mifflin imprint Mariner.

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Saturday, July 12, 2008

NYT's Literary Ephemera

The New York Times has a gallery of the fun stuff publishers send them in hopes of getting a better review placement:


See also, the more entertaining (but less book-related) Onion AV Club Swag! Roundup.

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Wednesday, January 02, 2008

Roundup: Best Books of 2007

As usual, I read very little new literature this year, opting for Vonnegut and Bester and other classics. If I do want to back up and see what I missed, plenty of places have their recommendations:
And, this list from Bostonist did the footwork of what I was planning on doing: compiling a meta-list of best books, based on those books' appearance in other lists.

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